


from me, with love

by questionably_fortunate_bamboo



Series: jonsa season 7 summer challenge [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gift Giving, Jonsa S7 Summer Challenge, Jonsa Summer Challenge, not my finest piece but eh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 12:03:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11486010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionably_fortunate_bamboo/pseuds/questionably_fortunate_bamboo
Summary: Five gifts that Jon gave Sansa, and one she gave to him.(written for day three of the jonsa s7 summer challenge - gifts)





	from me, with love

**Author's Note:**

> I'm reeeeally sorry the setup is super vague and it's all "ooooh now they're in LOVE" but i watched like ten hours of bob ross videos last night and fell into a trance and i'm still recovering tbh   
> enjoy, you dazzling fiends

i.

Jon lays down the wrapped parcel. “I got you something… it’s not much, but I thought you’d like it.”

Sansa lays down her needle and smiles. Her hair is loose and wavy, and she has a grey shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Ghost is snoring quietly by the fireplace. She unfolds the parchment wrapping carefully.

“It’s beautiful, Jon,” she says, eagerly running her fingers across the dark silver silk. “Where did you find it? It’s far too fine to be made in the north.”

“There was a Dornish merchant in Winter Town. This was the last of his stock. The color goes with your hair, I think,” Jon says, grinning bashfully.

She pulls the fabric through her arms and takes note of the length and the texture, already imagining it as a fine gown. It reminds her of the breezy styles of the south. If she closes her eyes, she can smell the saltwater and hear the soft cry of the gulls. The fabric feels like the south, but it looks like the north. The strong grey color is like a stormy sky bringing snow to rest over the moors.

“Thank you so much, Jon,” she says sincerely. “It’s been so long since I had something as nice as this.”

“You deserve nice things,” says Jon. “I can find more fabric, if you like. Lord Manderly says that they have plenty of merchants in White Harbor.”

“Don’t spoil me.” Sansa folds the silk and lays it on her desk.

Her smile is a rare thing, and Jon wishes he could see it more.

 

ii.

“Gods, these are delicious!”

Licking a few crumbs off of her fingers, Sansa reaches for another lemon cake.

“Brienne told me you liked them,” says Jon, pouring another cup of wine for her. The candles on his desk cast a warm glow over their faces.

“How did you get the lemons?” she asks.

“Lord Manderly got a few crates and asked if I wanted them,” says Jon.

“Perhaps I should make Lord Manderly the King in the North, if it means I’ll have lemon cakes every day.” They grin at each other as if they’re still children, taking delight in every small thing.

Jon’s heart aches as he watches her bite into a small cake. He takes a long swig of wine and prepares himself for what he has to tell her.

“Sansa, I-”

Knock, knock. “Hey! Sansa, are you in there?”

“Go away, Bran!” she says.

“I just needed to know where Arya is,” comes her brother’s annoyed response.

“I’ve no idea.”

“Fine.”

Sansa laughs and shakes her head. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I’m going to Dragonstone,” he blurts out, “and I’m sorry.”

She stares at him with her mouth full of lemon cake.  _“Mmph?”_

iii.

Jon’s faced the undead, he’s faced giants, and he’s faced merciless killers, but facing Sansa in her anger makes his blood run cold.

“You’re back,” she says in a monotonous drawl. Her fingers grip the arm of her chair.

“We successfully negotiated with Daenerys Targaryen, who will help us in the war against the Others and grant us our sovereignty in exchange for our support of her claim to the Iron Throne,” says Jon. The formality makes his teeth hurt.

“Hmm.”

He clutches the small bag in his hands. “I brought you something.”

Sansa says nothing. He takes a hesitant step forward, and then another, until he’s standing at her side. Her eyes are bloodshot and tired.

“There were shells at the beach on Dragonstone. I picked a few for you,” he says, holding out the bag. She takes it with disinterest and sets it aside.

“Thank you.”

“Sansa, please. I wish nothing had changed between us. I’m sorry I had to go to Dragonstone, but I didn’t have a choice,” he says. Her head turns, and she looks at him for the first time.

“You wish nothing had changed?” She bites her lip angrily. “Everything’s changed. You need to get used to that.”

Everything has changed. Once, Jon thought of her as a sister. Those days are long gone.

 

iv.

Neither of them can stay mad at each other for long. And as it happens, they’re both terrible at lying.

“I wish you didn’t have to go off and fight in a war. My bed will be awfully cold at night,” Sansa says, reaching for her robe (made of familiar grey silk). A series of light purple marks trail from her collarbone to her thighs, where a thousand invisible kisses have been placed.

Jon fixes his trousers, suddenly remembering the parcel in his pocket. “I got you something.”

“Another gift?”

“Close your eyes and hold out your hand.” He presses the cold jewels into her fingers. “There.”

Her eyelids flutter open. “Jon, you’re an idiot!”

“You don’t like it?” His face falls.

“No, I _love_  it, but what were you thinking? You must’ve emptied the entire treasury!” The silver necklace shines like starlight in her hands.

“When I come back from battle, I’d like to see you wearing that,” he murmurs, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Only that.”

A weary look passes over her face. “You’re going to come back, aren’t you?”

He despises making promises he doesn’t know if he can keep, but he’ll never let fear consume her.

“I’ll always come back for you,” he says.

Her lips are soft and wanting, and Jon knows that he will never be able to deny her anything.

 

v.

The celebrations last into the small hours of the morning, when Jon and Sansa manage to slip away into the Lord’s chambers. Their hearts are still full of victory and joy.

“I’ve got something for you,” says Jon, between kisses. She rolls her eyes.

“You should stop giving me things. I’ll not have it be said that I’m spoiled. Unless you want to do that thing with your mouth…?”

“I’ll do that later.” He goes over to his desk and picks out a wooden box. Inside is a silver crown with intricate details. It’s made in the image of the weirwood trees, and has thin metallic branches and leaves.

“Jon-”

“I want you to be my queen,” he says, “and I want to be your king.”

“I already am, and you already are,” she says, with a smile that could melt the winter. Jon sets the crown aside and crosses the room, kissing her with love and pride. The dragons are gone, the dead are buried, and now their life can begin.

 

\+ vi.

He’s a peaceful little thing from the moment he’s born. They call him Benjen, already noting the dark tufts of hair on his head.

“I love him far too much already,” says Sansa, stroking his soft cheeks.

“He’ll have your eyes.” Jon rests his head against his wife’s shoulder as they share the weight of their son on their laps.

“He’s all I want, Jon. There’s so much good in him… he’s perfect.”

He kisses her cheek and sighs. “You ought to get me more gifts like this.”

The snow falls gently outside, and they’re happy at last.


End file.
